Sickness? When the depressed wanderings of last year seem to be an absurd memory. Of a time when you could walk endlessly.
Or knowing that you are leaving a life you love, for absurd reasons. Money or circumstance, or some such.
That vague and familiar feeling of being appreciated by a steady stream of people who approve of your ideas, as if you have laid them out clearly & beautifully. And if only you could keep at it. A tangible sense of THIS IS WHO YOU ARE, and your own Mom has no idea.
Or the urge you feel, maybe a pull towards someone. The tantalizing idea that maybe they feel it too. But not being able to say it. To say it out loud and wonderfully.
Wondering if this thing was true.
And then only having your own longing to live with. You, alone, your life, forcing the both of you to be alone.
Maybe needlessly. As if you only need to open the door, simple as that. But you cannot find where it could be.
